Lamp
by ksuzu
Summary: There's a road after Koshien that he's promised to travel. [Aniya x Toko]
1. Savoir-Faire

_Suzu:_ _Now and then, I like writing for terribly obscure fandoms, and experimenting with different narrative voices. Writing Aniya's a fun challenge. This'll be a short story with short-ish chapters.  
_

 _Rookies is amazing btw. It needs more love._

* * *

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 **Lamp**

 _Aniya and Toko_

 _keep their promises,_

 _or try to_

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* * *

His easy mask of savoir-faire cannot hide the anxious twitch of his fingers as they clutch at the winning ball, joints shaking and comprehending that this is it, this is Nikugaku, they've won their second round game, holyshitholyshit, and he needs to just sign his name on its battered surface and then he can go enjoy some of the afterglow of Koshien elite with his team like any proper high school baseball hero.

Fuck this, Aniya thinks. Fuck, because he's already thrown a 156 km/hr, there's no need for him to wax lyrical about it in front of the paparazzi, grin full on ridiculous and eyes drooping from exhaustion. There's fans screaming his name outside the locker room and women creaming their pants waiting to ambush him as he boards the bus home.

"Yooo! Nice job out there, Aniya!"

Aniya is relieved when the reporters attach to his coach like bees to honey. Kawato is a charismatic guy in the world of high school baseball, now that Oddball Yakuza Teacher sells as a positive and not a negative headline.

His stinging pitching arm elbows its way toward the little alcove in the back of the stands, weaving past the press swarming around his teammates. Mikoshiba is actually crying, hiccupping driblets of salty liquid down his still-boyish face as the captain of bona-fide Koshien game winners (holyshitholyshit) tries to give reporters a verbal quote to take home.

"Nice play," a familiar voice cuts into his thoughts smoothly.

Her eyes are puffy and her chin has small indent marks along the jawline. Aniya thinks not for the first time that Toko's a tease, and she should just come out and say how many torrents of emotion wracked through the benches as the team executed wave after wave of offense to clutch the game in the extra innings.

He puts on his best swagger, because its a comfortable, worn mask even though he knows she can see through it like rice paper.

"Seeing as I'm the hottest thing in Japan right now, don't you have something you should be giving me?"

"Wha—" Toko blinks, then averts her eyes in a way that forces Aniya's hand. "One of, maybe…" she mumbles. She won't look at him full in the eyes, like she's some shy coquettish girly thing that's so unlike the Toko he knows she knows he knows.

"But… Kei-chan, congratulations," she demures, though the emotion is honest.

He shakes his head. "Not that. I get that from everyone."

"Ah, well, I'll... think about it," she says finally. "I just need to realize this is all real."

Aniya's not sure what "this" Toko is referring to, and he's about to call her out as a chicken and a pussy (the latter being one of his sadder attempts at humor), but a heartbeat later, she's given him another one of her soft, fluttery pecks, and Aniya is positive, dead positive, that this moment after the winning pitch and probably lasting just as long is mysteriously just as sweet.

None of that registers from his brain to his mouth, though. All he gets out is:

"Fuckin' tongue, woman! Stop jipping me out on that action!"

"Uh, maybe next time," she says hurriedly, spinning around in a 360 looking for any sneaking reporters or groupies, like she's ashamed of him or something. "After our summer break, if you do well in the Invitational Camp's tournament."

Funny thing is, he knows its a carrot, and that he's a fucking race horse.

Doesn't matter.

He gives a half-hearted second attempt and strikes out, the sound of the palm of her hand so familiar to him it's like a ref's whistle calling foul.

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	2. Gangster Superstar

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All-Japan is a weird potpourri of straight-laced superstars, half-assed gangster types, and then the ones that had maybe one more emotion than a pitching machine on their good days.

Aniya is a veritable reformed gangster turned superstar on a team making it just short of Koshien quarterfinals. Still, Aniya'll never claim to be straight-laced, so he pitches his way through practices with a fury and a snarl that impresses maybe three or four of the younger runts. It keeps him from drawing too much attention, as he pitches for his evaluations at a max of a solid 146, whereas two of his costars flirt around 150, or have fancy curves that would out-loop his aunt's stash of okama pole dance vids, that's how twisted they were.

One of the newer representatives is Enatsu, who, along with Aniya, is a first-time invite. Neither of them feel especially compelled to acknowledge the past except to smirk at each other when one of the half-assed gangsters hurriedly puffs on a cigarette when the little shit thinks the coach isn't looking.

Enatsu takes one look at Aniya's sloping fastball and guffaws, doubling over all dramatic-like and complaining to the spectators (what few camp volunteers are secret admirers of one or two of the trainees in particular) that the great Aniya is a slob in his old age and there's nothing to see here, etc etc.

Privately, Enatsu shoves him into the wall next to the vending machines and tells Aniya that he'll kick his kneecap off if the Nikugaku star doesn't get serious. Old fogey or not, Aniya's better crap than 146.

Because Enatsu doesn't understand the beauty of building up to something (and surprising the hell out of your camp's managers and other, less observant trainees), Aniya enjoys glowering back at his old rival's scowling mug and telling him to 'shove it', 'just wait', and 'you'll see who's a pussy soon enough'.

Next training game, Aniya explodes with a 155 out the gate. It takes two innings for him to wind up to the 158.6. When it comes, the whole team explodes, opposite side or not. The first baseman literally drops his mitt into the ground and yells for the catcher to switch positions with him, he's so bored, and Aniya has to pretend like it's not a big deal, because _seriously, can't everyone do this?_

If this qualifies as 'doing well', then his results show it.

He's slotted as first string for the next invitational matches against American juniors. The baseball junkies from the States have sun-tanned freckles and talk to girls too much (the pot calling the kettle black or whatever), but it's the way they ogle Toko once she finally comes to see him play, her fingers clasping the fencing around the dugout, that pisses off Aniya enough to make him throw over 157s several times that game.

And when the 159.8 comes, Enatsu actually spits his gum out to avoid biting his own tongue, he's so conflicted. His rival's success was unpredictable, haphazard, but brilliant in a way that explains why one didn't have to like Aniya, but one would have the emotional capacity of a tree branch if one didn't want to bro-fist the guy after those clutch situations.

America's team is no slouch. They've got a few MLB shoe-in's, one a particularly tall, well-muscled blonde that reminds Aniya of Shinjo. He slams the fast balls with alarming regularity after the first two outs at bat, and after that, Aniya has to, bitterly, defer to his polished, All-Star, non-Nikugaku teammates.

After the game's regular innings end in a narrow draw, but with both pitchers holding the opposing teams down to under 5 runs, Aniya sloughs off to find a warm tap of water to get rid of the sweaty ache before he plays extras that their host stadium is being pressured into, walks purposely near Enatsu to saunter by all slow-like, whistling innocently, before tucking his glove into the locker and getting out another glove—the first pitcher's glove he'd gotten in Nikogaku, the one Toko bought with her moonlighting part-time jobs. He supposes this is a bit arrogant of him, but he wants to be ready to pose for post-game photos with a good glove—and this one is the best.

Extras finish. They lose, maybe because the other pitcher's got more variety in his pitches, and somehow, Aniya's less pissed than he thought he'd be, since he'd been subbed out in extras, and for the regular game, he'd done well with pitching numbers, and this ain't his team.

He's actually kind of okay, holding in his pride—until he sees the empty seat.

Toko has actually left the stands when he finishes interviews and goes back to find her.

He supposes she's busy—people without glowing Koshien recommendations and suffer through university and job applications the old-fashioned way, and Toko's grades, while good, are not the kind built purely on natural studying genius. Aniya figures that their lives will always converge, that she'd naturally study toward the best sports-geared school there is, the one he's going to, whichever that ends up being. There's a small but ever-growing margin of error, a niggling doubt, in Aniya's gut, but he chases it away each time, corresponding to the times he's made thug faces at any of the more serious looking dudes with soon-to-be-divulged crushes on his childhood friend.

He slinks out of his hotel room to make a call to her via the lobby's payphone. He know her home number by heart, and her mother knows that while he's an idiot about a lot of things, he's harmless, really, so the fairly matronly housewife always connects the call to its final destination.

"Hey," he deadpans when the phone clicks and he hears a familiar, soft breath against the receiver.

"Kei-chan, I'm so sorry I had to leave. Ayumi had a big fight with her parents and needed to stay with me."

So it wasn't routine studying. Aniya releases the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He doesn't know who this Ayumi is, but he can think of worse friends (a worse gender, his roaming brain chimes in) for her to bring over.

Unfortunately, along with the relief comes the pent up frustration, finally, of losing the game. It's something he'd never liked about himself—his penchant for pent up aggression, irrational frustration and the like. And somehow, it's Toko who knows him best, and that comes with side effects. It's like just hearing her voice causes him to start spouting feelings at her.

"So those fucks won."

She doesn't say anything for a moment. It makes sense, she's already done her fair share of comforting others today. She must be tired. Aniya feels like the Kei-chan from long ago, the little kid with blisters on his palms, bemoaning his neighbor's cute daughters rebuffs of his attempts to feed her mud pies.

"Was it a good game?"

"I don't lose."

He can almost hear her shake her head over the phone.

"I mean, do you wish you could have done things differently?"

Aniya knows. He's been working on it by himself, but he wishes that the training camp had done more to work on it for him. Instead, All Japan had a series of good pitchers with mean floaters and curvers and all sorts of nasty spin balls. Aniya was there for his fastball, and its unique acceleration. They'd wanted him to focus on improving that. They'd been shooting to reach, and eventually top, 160, and reach a record in Japanese high school baseball.

"I shoulda pitched better. Doesn't matter how. I just wanna get more outs."

"You're putting the entire team on your shoulders again."

"I'm not. This is selfish. I want to get stronger for myself. I want… the game never lies. The stronger team won, but the stronger pitcher won too."

"Kei-chan…"

He clicks to hang up before he can hear what she has to say next. Maybe it's hot shame pooling in his eyes, but as Aniya slams his fist into the wall behind the booth, his hand is shaking.

.

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* * *

 _Suzu: TBC. Next one in Toko POV._


	3. University Jocks

_Notes: Hanshin is close to Kobe U._

 _Spoilers for Rookies Special Chapter._

* * *

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Change never comes incrementally. Because of this, sometimes, she wishes it wouldn't come at all.

The pro scouters aren't slouches, Toko knows. Aniya does the public niceties dance on national television with various teams until he settles on a preference order, although his top choice—Hanshin—was always set. Her classmates and friends giggle and smirk and prod for a reaction from her, but she's too busy trying to keep the snakes from escaping her stomach (only wimps felt nervousness as butterflies). And once she's stifled the energy down, she looks up, laughs and sighs and twirls her pencil. Because the image on the school broadcast screen means change and yet more of the same, both.

When the golden boy of her youth gets his top choice slotted in the lottery, but his two teammates are not given bids, she knows he'll celebrate grudgingly in public. When they're alone, Aniya gets these periodic but explosive bouts of joy where he has to do a haphazard jig down the street, that's how psyched he is. Once or twice, he busts a dance move in front of her as they walk home. She's more and more like his bodyguard now, from sports tabloids or fangirls or unreformed gangsters. And though it's a role she's expressed extreme distaste for out loud, her heart's in it more than she'd care to admit.

This changes things. The size of Aniya's head is unprecedented. She glances up and the pout of his lip is full of weight, his eyes steely and, she knows, twinkling underneath as he waits for the world to assess him. As if he's hiding under a bright spotlight, Aniya looks up more and looks at her less. He knows what it means to be associated with the man of the moment. Toko takes every chance she gets to tease him now, offhand comments about his newly minted status. She's fortunate. There's inertia in their relationship. It's fantasy turned reality, walking home with a rockstar, but she can still remember the brat who force fed girls mud pies and stole everyone's first kiss.

Aniya can tell that she's happy for him, though. She doesn't try to hide it. Toko can't stop her eyes from getting a little glossier and her left cheek gets a small dimple as she tries to bite down on her proud grin.

"Your mom is cooking up a feast, I'll bet," Toko says, after school when they're somehow, per usual, walking home, despite the craziness of just having set negotiations with Hanshin for the next few weeks.

Aniya shifts a little, readjusting the sunglasses and bandana he'd filched from his teammates as a disguise to get out of school without hordes of admirers latching onto him. Hair falls into his eyes and he's too preoccupied with mulling over something to whisk the strands away.

"You betcha she is," he says finally. "So wanna come over?"

"Can't."

"What? You on a diet again?"

He's stupid like that. She forgives him because the stupid is old news. And the new news is more exciting.

"Extra cram school sessions," she says, averting her eyes. "I took off for you the last few nights."

He doesn't drop it, like she knows he wouldn't. She's the one who's held hostage as he moans out all his insecurities about not getting drafted the week leading up to today. Aniya has the hindsight to question his sanity, seeing as four teams had ended up picking him in the first round. But now he's set. The rest of his life (the only part that mattered, to him) is unfurling before his eyes in grand red carpet style, crowding out the people by his side, who've been reduced to cheering crowds on the peripheries. Toko's not sure she wants to be there on the margins. She has her own life to live. But, truthfully, she's never thought he would walk away, first.

"Do you think," Toko starts, now that they're almost in front of her house. "Do you think going pro changes you?"

His calloused fingers tug off the ridiculous sunglasses. Aniya turns and goggles at her, incredulous, while Toko takes to silently watching as he also flicks off his bandana, finally, and runs a hand through his inky wild hair.

"It'll never change us," he grunts gruffly, and now he's the one unable to meet her eyes.

"That's not what I asked."

"That's what you meant." Aniya jabs a finger midair, all bravado, she knows. "And it fucking won't. We've been together so long already. I've seen you graduate from mushroom head hair."

She opens her mouth to protest, and only gets that far.

"And now you've almost got that recommendation to Kobe U. What could possibly change?"

"If I don't make Kobe University?"

"Then go to Kobe Women's. I'll even walk ya to class in the off-season."

Almost. So close, yet not close enough. And it's not just the fact that Aniya'll be traveling. It doesn't matter where she's geographically posted; she'll be doing normal university student things, stationary, and, if Aniya performs as he's supposed to, he'll be off touring the entire country like some glorified pomp running victory laps.

Toko's never expected Aniya to get it. She's always let the spaces in their conversations speak for her, the lulls that never seem to be filled just right. She's never thought that he could actually surmise the truth from everything she's left out.

Still, when had she started wanting him to?

"Aren't you just feelin' left out to dry? Cranky I got it figured out and you don't?" he edges, and she knows how scared he is of stepping on a landmine.

Toko hums, mostly to soothe her companion's skittish nerves off-field. If Aniya's a racehorse, bred for one purpose, then he's doomed to suck forever at any normal, human relationship.

"I'm going to stay local after all, I think. There's a good chance my recommendation to somewhere closer to here will go through, and M Academy's got a—"

"—A passable baseball team, I know." Aniya frowns, and his eyebrows scrunch in that forlorn, jeering way of his. "But hey… you get that I just made pro, right? I'm worth at least a hundred of your stupid university jocks."

"Jerk."

"Always." His piercing team ace eyes get all soft. "So call me."

"Only if you're any good."

"Now you're fucking with me. Me? Only _good?"_ Aniya guffaws, and moves in a bit. Toko can feel the heat of his body, all angular planes and corded wire, under the thin workout jersey. His eyes have now completely lost that faraway look he gives to all the cameras, and the warm concentration in their inky depths is unnerving. He's not trying to intimidate her, but his sheer presence has grown exponentially since his time carrying Nikugaku on his shoulders. Toko wonders if she should just tell him that she's scared to lose him.

Instead Toko says—"Can't brag about you to the stupid university jocks if you warm benches. Start on the mound and we'll stay in touch."—and let's the spaces speak for her.

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 _tbc_


End file.
